


it is a serious thing, just to be alive

by uberwaldian_connection



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Blatant Canon Erasure, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, THERE ARE SPOILERS IN THIS ONE CHILDREN, literally in this order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uberwaldian_connection/pseuds/uberwaldian_connection
Summary: “Here is your destiny,” Calanthe whispers and looks at Lord Urcheon with a watery smile. She can see him slowly relax, just a fraction. Still smiling, she allows herself the last split second to re-examine her options.She lunges.or,Calanthe does kill Duny at the betrothal feast. Obviously a wild AU.
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach
Comments: 23
Kudos: 59





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this piece a long time ago, but was reluctant to publish, because the whole premise goes against my firm belief that fan fiction should be at least *somewhat* realistic. But then the current events happened and I thought, honestly, who gives a shit about realistic plot anymore  
> THIS FIC INCLUDES SPOILERS THAT GO BEYOND THE SHOW!  
> title from "invitation" by mary oliver
> 
> To karadeniz, who read the first version and very encouragingly screamed at me to write part two

“Here is your destiny,” Calanthe whispers and looks at Lord Urcheon with a watery smile. She can see him slowly relax, just a fraction. Still smiling, she allows herself the last split second to re-examine her options.

She lunges.

The dagger goes through the soft flesh of his throat with an unpleasant wet sound. His blood, hot and sticky, runs between Calanthe’s fingers. He manages to send her the last shocked look before his eyes roll back into his head and he collapses, staining Pavetta’s dress with his blood.

In the heavy silence that follows, Pavetta screams.

  
  


*

  
  


Calanthe wakes up two days later, hurting and feverish. Mousesack tells her that she is lucky to be alive – apparently a solid piece of broken wood has pierced through her side, puncturing a lung and nearly missing the heart.

The irony is not lost on her.

She asks for Pavetta, only to be told that her daughter doesn’t want to see her, not today and preferably not ever again. It might be expressed in a more diplomatic way, but Calanthe is too delirious to remember the actual flowery words.

Thankfully, she slips out of consciousness before she fully registers the new pain of her breaking heart.

  
  


*

  
  


As soon as he hears that Calanthe has woken up, Eist boards the ship back to Skellige, planning to never set foot in Cintra again.

  
  


*

  
  


To everyone’s surprise, Pavetta marries Crach. Her actual betrothal, a week after the planned one, resembles a funeral more than a wedding. Crach is solemn and stiff, his mouth set in a hard line. Pavetta is ashen-faced and trembling, and there are tears in her eyes the whole time. Calanthe, still pale as death and barely able to sit, looks at them and feels her insides twist with grief.

She tells herself it was still the right thing to do.

  
  


*

  
  


(“I’m pregnant,” Pavetta tells Crach a few nights before. They are sitting in the garden outside of the castle’s walls, he with a beer, she with a tonic that should help with her nausea.

Crach looks at her with surprising softness.

“It’s his, isn’t it?”

Pavetta can only nod.

“It’s the only thing that I have left of him.”

Crach looks at her for a long time. Then he offers her a solution.)

  
  


*

  
  


Pavetta and Crach don’t even wait until the end of the feast before they disappear. There are a few crude comments here and there, the usual jokes about wedding night’s ministrations and such, but there is no real feeling behind them. Pavetta’s scream over Duny’s dead body is still too fresh in everybody’s minds.

The next morning comes, dispersing shadows and revealing secrets, and Pavetta and Crach are nowhere to be find.

Neither is Crach’s ship.

Calanthe is furious and fuming, but by the time anyone realizes that they are gone, Pavetta and Crach are already out in the open sea. There is no chance of chasing them back home from there.

She supposes it’s one way of finally being free.

  
  


*

  
  


Calanthe writes letters, but Pavetta never replies. After a while Calanthe starts alternating the contents, shifting between full pages of rants, cursing, cold logic and apologies, hoping that she will finally strike the right tone and coax some reaction – any reaction, really – from her daughter.

But silent days turn to weeks, then months, then a year, and Calanthe has to swallow her pride and write a message to Eist.

He replies, at least, but his letter is so cold, his tone so formal, that Calanthe nearly starts to cry. To stop the tears, she bites her lip so hard that it starts bleeding, and forces herself to read on. Pavetta is well, Eist writes, and so is Crach, and so is Calanthe’s granddaughter, Ciri. He is afraid that he’s unable to say when – if – they plan on returning to Cintra. It certainly will not be soon, with baby Ciri as young as she is.

His letter carefully avoids any suggestion that he might be inviting her to Skellige instead.

  
  


*

  
  


As if Pavetta running away and breaking all contact wasn’t enough, Calanthe’s mother decides to return to Cintra to peacefully die.

“You look terrible,” she says when she first sees her. Calanthe doesn’t even have the strength to roll her eyes at that, so she just stands there, uncharacteristically quiet.

Adalia has never been the warmest of mothers – she has never been grounded enough for that, her mind was constantly occupied with things of far greater importance than her child – and the years haven’t changed her. But she doesn’t look at Calanthe with disdain, either, and these days a lack of hostility feels almost like love.

They are sitting together one evening, both pretending to be occupied with their work. Calanthe drinks wine, slightly more than she should, slightly more than is good for her, and keeps staring at the same parchment, not really understanding a word.

Suddenly, Adalia speaks.

“For what it’s worth, you did the right thing.”

Calanthe is lost for a second, not really understanding her meaning. When it finally dawns on her, her eyes snap to meet her mother’s.

Adalia nods.

“I’ve seen the future, the one that might have been. The one Pavetta would have had with him at her side. It was not good, that future. And for Pavetta, not a very long one.”

A chill runs down Calanthe’s spine. After a beat of silence she forces herself to ask,

“Still – she will never forgive me, will she?”

Adalia doesn’t reply, and for Calanthe, that’s an answer enough.

  
  


*

  
  


In an unexpected gesture of goodwill, Pavetta and Crach invite Calanthe to Skellige to celebrate Ciri’s second birthday.

She goes, of course, but she is nearly sick with stress the whole time. The sea voyage is a blur, the people around her are just a nuisance, and when they start approaching Skellige, the ragged cliffs seem ominous and threatening.

Pavetta, Crach and Ciri are waiting for her on the shore. Pavetta hasn’t changed much since Calanthe last saw her – maybe she carries herself a bit differently now, with greater confidence. Being a mother tends to do that to people. Crach looks exactly the same, and he’s the only person who actually manages to look glad to see her. His smile is sincere enough, and he pulls her into a one-armed hug that nearly knocks the air out of her lungs.

Ciri is just the sweetest child Calanthe has ever seen, Pavetta excluded, and she would love nothing more than to sweep the child into her arms and kiss every inch of her face. But Ciri has never seen her grandmother before, and what she has heard of her probably wasn’t very flattering, so she’s hiding behind her mother’s skirt, stealing a curious glance every now and then.

The feast is a loud, happy affair. There is a lot of dancing and even more of drinking, and after a few hours Calanthe slowly allows herself to relax. She’s sitting next to Crach, who is very well-behaved, although obviously uncomfortable. He keeps her goblet full and attempts to engage her in a polite conversation that soon derails when he realizes she’s an audience starved for stories about Ciri. Soon, in a manner of every smitten young father in the history of mankind, he’s recounting every detail from Ciri’s life, including the colour of her first vomit.

Pavetta doesn’t say much – she barely acknowledges Calanthe’s presence – but at least she doesn’t do anything to stop Crach’s rampant storytelling and for that, Calanthe is grateful.

She tries very hard to avoid looking at the table on her right, where Eist is sitting next to his wife. She’s probably a few years younger than him, or maybe just seems so, with her beautiful skin and blonde hair. She’s cheerful, she smiles a lot and seems like she’s never had her own opinion on anything in her life.

It’s probably just as well that Calanthe has sworn off alcohol for today, because she feels ill whenever she looks at them and their apparent domestic bliss.

“Your Majesty?” Crach asks, and she realizes she must have quite rudely stopped listening. “Are you all right?”

She smiles reflexively.

“Of course. I apologise, I am just worn off from the travel. You were saying about Ciri’s favourite animals?”

*

  
  


When Pavetta wakes her in the middle of the night and invites her for a walk, Calanthe knows that it is not a moment to argue. She quickly gets out of bed and, not even bothering to wake her maids, grabs a thick sweater and a pair of boots, and joins Pavetta outside.

She has always thought that the sky was the most beautiful here. Stars always seemed to shine brighter here than anywhere else.

Pavetta is standing with her arms crossed, waiting for her. As soon as she sees Calanthe, she turns on her heel and walks away from the house, towards the sea.

Calanthe follows. After a few moments, Pavetta allows her to catch up and they walk in silence, frozen leaves crunching under their boots. It’s the middle of the night, but it’s full moon, and its pale light is additionally amplified by the vast ocean surrounding the isle. Calanthe steals a glance at Pavetta’s face and finds her lost in thoughts.

Silence falls around them, but this time it is not that tense. Calanthe thinks that although she has no clue what is going on, if this the best her relationship with Pavetta will ever get, she will take it. Midnight walks, even silent, are still better than not wanting to see each other at all.

Battle-trained reflexes or not, she nearly jumps when Pavetta speaks.

“Grandmother left me a letter,” she says with a furrowed brow. “It was the last thing that she ever wrote to me.”

Calanthe doesn’t dare make a sound.

“In this letter, she described a vision she’d had,” Pavetta continues, not looking at her. “According to Grandmother, it was the future I would have had if you hadn’t killed Duny at that feast. Do you want to know what it would have looked like?”

Calanthe doesn’t, not really. Her heart is beating so fast it’s threatening to jump out of her chest and she’s slightly nauseous, but when Pavetta looks at her, her features suddenly sharp, she gives an almost imperceptible nod.

“I would have married Duny,” Pavetta says in a flat tone. “A few months later, I would have given birth to Ciri. You would have married Eist...”

Calanthe squeezes her eyes shut for just a tiniest fraction of a second, forcing herself to breathe through the wave of sadness that washes over her.

“… and you would have been oh-so-happy together,” Pavetta carries on, mercilessly. “And for a few years, everything would have been fine.”

“But?” Calanthe prods, praying that there will be a “but”.

“But then Duny would have turned out to be the long lost son of the Nilfgaardian emperor,” Pavetta says and stops. “And he would have tried to take Ciri and me to Nilfgaard. I would have argued with him on the ship carrying us there from Skellige, and he would have pushed me into the stormy sea.”

Calanthe feels her knees give out under her and she has to grab the nearest rock for support. Pavetta doesn’t make a move towards her, just stands with her arms crossed and stares. It’s too dark to decipher the look in her eyes, and Calanthe thinks that it might be for the best.

“Ciri would have survived,” Pavetta says, and her voice wavers ever so slightly. “And she would have grown up with you and Eist. But then Duny – the Emperor of Nilfgaard – would try to conquer the whole Continent, Cintra included. You and Eist would die, and Ciri...”

She trails off, lost in thoughts again. Calanthe is almost too afraid to let her finish.

“You see, the thing about Ciri is – I was already pregnant at my betrothal feast.”

Calanthe’s eyes widen in shock.

“She’s Duny’s daughter, Mother,” Pavetta says, almost sadly. “An unknown heiress to the Nilfgaardian empire. And in the future that we so narrowly avoided, Duny would have tried to take her and make her his Empress.”

Calanthe has to sit on that rock she’s been holding on to for dear life. A long silence follows.

“Do you believe it? The vision?”

Pavetta hums.

“I didn’t want to,” she says and it’s not exactly an answer, not really, but it’s all that she’s willing to give.

Another stretch of silence falls upon them. By the time Calanthe speaks, the birds have started chirping.

“Does it change anything?”

She does not remember the last time when she was so afraid of an answer.

“I don’t know,” Pavetta admits. “You still had no right.”

“I know.”

“I loved him.”

“I know you did,” Calanthe whispers.

Pavetta falls silent for a moment and eyes her critically.

“But I do like to be alive,” she finally says. “And for now, that’s the best I can do.”

On the horizon, the dark blue sky starts to turn lilac.


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which life goes on, Eist has a few revelations and some things are on the mend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooof i got unexpectedly nervous about posting this because it's one thing to run over your characters with a lawnmower and another to try to put them back together. but this is how i imagine it and i've had lots of fun writing it, so i do hope you'll enjoy :)  
> (side note, i still can't decide on how i imagine skellige. in this fic i went with scandinavian/icelandic vibes, in my other fic it's theoretically inspired by scotland [i guess]. i have a lot of feelings about scandinavian lore and languages being used in the witcher universe, lmao)

The winter that follows Calanthe’s visit proves itself to be one marked by challenges. Heavy storms destroys six Skelligean ships carrying food and supplies, and by mid-winter they run out of flour. They have to ration the food, which is in no way pleasant (or feasible, on Skellige), and Eist thinks that there might be a bit of a civil war brewing.

But then Pavetta goes behind his back and a week later, a Cintran ship stacked with edibles appears on the horizon.

“Do I want to know how you did that?” Eist asks.

She only gives him a mysterious smile. They are standing on top of a cliff; the wind is blowing her hair around her face and it looks like a halo.

“A lot of things become possible when you appeal to my mother’s guilty conscience.”

  
  


*

  
  


Then there is also his home life. He and Solveig have been married for almost two years now, and Solveig is eager to start a family of her own.

“Clan Tuirseach need an heir,” she says one evening, brushing her honey blonde hair in front of a mirror. “And I do wish to have a child, Eist. I’ve been a healer for so long, delivered so many of them. It’s my time now.”

But he is uncertain.

Once, not even that long ago, he would have been overjoyed at the prospect. But now the idea of having a child seems foreign, maybe even disconcerting. The feeling is not unlike sailing into the open sea and discovering a storm is brewing.

He knows Solveig doesn’t understand that, and he can’t seem to find the right words to explain. He thinks that it would be easier if he could find the source of his reluctance, but he can’t, and that frustrates him. So he keeps on asking Solveig to drink her monthly herbal brew, and trains himself in ignoring the disappointment lurking in her pale eyes.

  
  


*

  
  


(He remembers their beginning, just a few months after Ciri was born. He remembers his own desire to move on, to abandon any foolish hope he might have had, every bit of misplaced affection. His clan deserves a jarl who is focused on the well-being of their isles, and not someone constantly distracted by the thought of a kingdom a sea away.

Solveig is intelligent and witty, and beautiful in the way a summer evening is beautiful – all warmth and smooth edges, when everything is heavy and soft. She smiles a lot and always knows when he’s in a brooding mood, and leaves him alone. Eist finds himself drawn to her, and he perfectly knows why.

The realization should have stopped him, but it doesn’t. Soon, and without much deliberation, they get married and everything is good, for a while. Solveig is warm, and kind, and she loves him, and Eist thinks that he loves her, too.

He should have known that wouldn’t be enough.)

  
  


*

  
  


The next time he sees Calanthe is in late summer. Despite their tentative reconciliation, Pavetta still refuses to set foot in Cintra, so Calanthe decides to come to her instead.

She stays in Skellige for two full weeks, and it takes a lot of creativity on Eist’s side to plan his schedule in a way that keeps him busy throughout almost the entirety of her stay. It goes remotely well, at least until Crach comes up to him with an uncharacteristically stern expression on his face and reminds him not to be an idiot and show the Queen of Cintra the bare minimum of respect.

The next evening, on the eve of Calanthe’s departure, Eist finds himself at a reasonably small social gathering at Pavetta and Crach’s house. He ends up sitting directly opposite Calanthe, with Solveig at his side, and they manage to be perfectly civil to each other. The conversation is superficial and boring, and they both carry their part without much thinking, but their diplomatic behaviour seems to ease the tension that Eist can see in Pavetta’s face.

Then Calanthe hesitates and speaks directly to Solveig, asking her about her experience as a healer and her life on the isles. If Solveig is surprised, she doesn’t let herself show it, and she answers the queen’s questions with a pleasant smile. Calanthe, for her part, listens with genuine interest, and the carefully neutral expression that she plasters on her face seems sincere enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know her.

When she slips out to get some air, Eist doesn’t plan on following suit, but his feet carry him outside nonetheless. He finds Calanthe leaning against the trunk of the large apple tree that grows behind the house, her eyes fixed on the silvery surface of the ocean shimmering in the distance. He knows that she can hear his approaching footsteps, but she doesn’t actually move until stands next to her.

“Crach forced you to come here tonight, didn’t he?”

Her tone is flat and she’s not looking at him. Eist crosses his arms and clears his throat.

“He reminded me that whatever personal misunderstandings you and I might have had, they can’t be more important than treating the Lioness of Cintra with the respect she deserves.”

Calanthe snorts at that.

“That does sound like Crach,” she allows. “But let’s not pretend you agree.”

“I do,” Eist protests, “and I am sorry if I have offended you, Your Majesty.”

He can swear that he sees a flicker of hurt in Calanthe’s eyes at the use of her formal title, and he forces himself to push the guilt deep down into the depths of his soul.

“But, yes,” he continues, not knowing why he says that, “I did try to keep myself so busy that I wouldn’t have time to meet you.”

A beat of silence follows.

“I do like your wife,” Calanthe suddenly says. Her voice seems strained. “I hope that you two will be very happy together.”

Eist doesn’t know how to respond to that. Right now, his marital bliss seems more of a theoretical nature, but he can’t possibly admit that to anyone but himself. He feels that it’s his turn to say something, and he keeps racking his brain for appropriate words, but comes up empty. He glances at Calanthe, only to find her looking at him with a sad smile and a trace of tears in her eyes.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry it ended this way,” she says and takes a deep breath, as if it physically pained her to speak. “But I’m not sorry for what I did then. And if I had to, I would do it again.”

“I know,” he whispers, and he can’t help looking into her eyes, deep and dark like a stormy sea. “That’s the whole problem, isn’t it?”

Calanthe lets out a short laugh that also might have been a sob. She gathers her skirts and leaves, and Eist doesn’t make a move to stop her.

The air smells like salt and apples. Eist thinks that he has never felt more alone.

  
  


*

  
  


Fall turns to winter, then to spring. One morning Pavetta announces that she’s pregnant. A cheer rips through the room, and soon everyone is around her and Crach, saying their congratulations and bestowing hugs.

Eist and Solveig have an argument that evening, one that suddenly turns nasty. They have had their disagreements, before, but it was always relatively calm and civil. This time, however, the argument ends with Solveig crying and Eist spending the night in his study.

It’s about children, amongst other things – about Eist’s refusal to have them, with Solveig reminding him she is not getting any younger and that the clan still doesn’t have an heir, and Eist can feel his frustration growing, because they have been _over this_ so many times and never reached a satisfying conclusion, so why would _this time_ be any different?

And then Solveig all but screams at him, her face already wet with tears,

“Well, why did you even want to marry me in the first place, then?”

And as everything around them becomes very still and silent, Eist is horrified to discover that he doesn’t know how to reply. Something in Solveig’s expression changes, then – her face seems to close off and she stops crying, her pain now replaced with cold fury. She throws him out of their bedroom, and he doesn’t even argue.

And so the deconstruction of his marriage begins.

  
  


*

  
  


He apologises to Solveig the next day, and for a few months, things seem acceptably steady. Pavetta grows rounder with child, this time glowing with joy throughout the pregnancy, and Eist tries very hard not to think about the yearning glances that Solveig throws in her direction when she thinks no one can see it.

One day Eist goes to see Crach, only to find him rolling around in the grass with Ciri, with Pavetta watching them from a distance. The day is warm and he has a bit of free time on his hands, so he moves to sit next to her on a large blanket. He asks a few customary questions, smiles with relief when she tells him that she’s well.

“And are you happy?” he suddenly asks before he can stop himself. “Here? With him?”

Pavetta looks at him, startled. Her hand moves to rest on her stomach.

“I am,” she finally replies, not taking her eyes off his, and Eist can sense that she’s telling the truth.

“And do you ever think,” he starts and trails off, unsure how to proceed, before finally settling on, “about what might have been?”

Understanding seems to dawn on Pavetta.

“If my mother hadn’t killed Duny at the feast, you mean,” she says matter-of-factly.

Eist slowly nods.

Pavetta looks him over again, and her gaze is even more scrutinizing this time around. Her eyes linger on the dark circles around his eyes, on the unevenly shaved cheeks. He suddenly remembers her Elder blood and wonders if she can look directly into his soul.

Pavetta opens her mouth to speak and Eist thinks that he went too far and she’s going to give him one of her carefully non-committal replies.

Instead, she tells him the story of Adalia’s letter.

  
  


*

  
  


Two months pass, and Eist still cannot leave behind the effect Pavetta’s story has had on him. It comes to haunt him in dreams, this other reality. Sometimes, he wakes up terrified and sweaty, having dreamt of Pavetta’s death and Cintra burning to the ground. Sometimes, he wakes up almost overwhelmed with longing, his mind conjuring images that are wholly inappropriate to think of with Solveig sleeping soundly next to him.

He’s never mentioned Pavetta’s story to her, and he doesn’t know why. But it becomes harder and harder to avoid her questions about his nightmares and her offers of comfort, and he knows that he is going to have to come up with something, eventually. He just needs a bit more _time._

But then Calanthe arrives to Skellige to be present during her second grandchild’s birth, and Eist realizes that there is no more time left.

He gathers his wits about him and approaches her when she’s sitting by the table outside Pavetta’s house with a stack of official correspondence in front of her. She smiles cautiously when she sees him, but it takes her one look at his face to understand that something’s wrong.

“Pavetta has told you,” she more states than guesses.

Eist nods and drops to the bench next to her, not even asking for permission. Calanthe doesn’t seem to mind. Ever so slowly, he recounts Pavetta’s story and Calanthe listens, only stopping him a few times to correct the details that he got wrong in his state of shock and confusion.

When he’s finished, they are both silent for a long time. Around them, a warm autmn afternoon is in its full glory, but today, Eist can’t find any comfort in the familiar chirping of birds in the trees nearby.

“Ever since she told me, a few weeks ago, I get nightmares about it,” he confesses and Calanthe looks at him with sympathy. “I dream of fire and destruction. I see Cintra falling, and Pavetta dying, and you...” he trails off and draws a sharp breath.

“I know,” Calanthe says, softly. “It was the same for me.”

It takes all of Eist’s willpower not to ask about the other kind of dreams he’s been having. The ones where she makes appearance, happy, and laughing, and in his arms.

“Do you believe it?” he asks instead.

Calanthe hesitates.

“I believe that my mother has seen it,” she finally says. “I believe that it might have happened. But the universe it so vast and the ways of destiny are so complex. I think for every vision of impending doom there are five others visions of perfect happiness.”

“Still, would you risk it?”

He knows Calanthe will shake her head before she even does it.

“What does your wife think about your nightmares?” she asks, mildly concerned.

“I haven’t told her,” Eist admits, and Calanthe’s eyes widen.

“You’ve been dreaming _for weeks_ about people dying, and you never thought to mention it to your _wife?”_

“No,” Eist says and tries to explain. “She knows I have nightmares. I just haven’t told her what they are about. She doesn’t know about Adalia’s vision.”

“Why?” Calanthe asks, curious.

“Because…,” Eist starts and stops, not knowing what to say. “I don’t think she would understand why the notion of Cintra falling, and everything else falling with it, makes me _this_ upset.”

Calanthe’s brow furrows.

“What do you mean? Why does it make you this upset?”

Thankfully, Ciri picks just this moment to jump onto her grandmother’s back, knocking the air out of Calanthe’s lungs. She swiftly intercepts the child and attacks her with a series of vicious tickling, and Eist watches them with a smile on his face, both disappointed and relieved.

  
  


*

  
  


Pavetta gives birth to a healthy boy, and there is a celebration that goes on for three days non stop.

Calanthe returns to Cintra a week after the birth, reluctant to go but unable to stay any longer. The conversation that they never finished still weighs heavily on Eist’s mind, and he still hasn’t told Solveig about the source of his nightmares. With Calanthe gone and Pavetta and Crach thoroughly occupied with their growing family, there is no one that he can talk to about them.

He decides to write a letter.

Calanthe’s reply comes back a week later, and in her own style she is both comforting and admonishing him for behaving like a complete idiot. (“And I really thought that you might be the only sensible man I know, Eist. Pull your head out of your ass and talk to her”).

  
  


*

  
  


Sometime later that week, he sits down with Solveig and tells her the whole thing. He doesn’t think that he’s ever told her the full story of Pavetta’s betrothal feast, so he starts there, carefully narrating through the details surrounding him, and Pavetta, and Calanthe, and lord Urcheon.

Then he moves to Adalia’s vision, and once he starts, he knows that he has to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. He doesn’t think that he needs to hurt her with the details of the more confusing dreams he’s been having.

When he is finished, Solveig looks at him for a very long time. He watches her face, trying to anticipate her reaction. He expects puzzlement, some additional questions, maybe a faint note of reproach.

He does not expect her to stand up from the table and say, “Well, that certainly explains it.”

Then she leans down to kiss his forehead and leaves, and Eist stares after her, his mind swirling with confusion.

  
  


*

_Little Ingolfur is doing fine, even though his parent_ _s_ _haven’t had a proper night's sleep since his birth,_ he writes in a letter to Calanthe next week. _Ciri dotes on her little brother, but I fear she is yet to grasp the concept of children being fragile creatures._

_Please don’t let my granddaughter kill my grandson,_ Calanthe writes back. _I know it’s Pavetta and Crach’s task to keep them alive, but I would like you to be an additional person keeping watch. Maybe get Ciri a kitten? If Pavetta objects, just refer her to me._

_There were no kittens on hand, my friend,_ Eist replies, _but I did manage to find her a lamb. It’s now called Fiona and I believe Ciri is teaching her to jump through the ground floor windows._

The next letter from Calanthe is mostly just an exasperated rant about sheep.

_Also, I took your advice,_ he writes, and he’s lost count of how many letters they’ve exchanged by then. _I did tell Solveig about Adalia’s vision. I sleep a lot better now._

The reply he receives is short.

_Good. I’m glad._

  
  


_*_

  
  


The days are starting to become good again. He suspects that it is due to spring that is now in full bloom. He finds himself smiling a lot these days, and there is a strange sense of calm surrounding him, like every piece of a complicated puzzle has just fallen into place.

And of course, that’s precisely the moment when everything has to go to hell.

He comes home one day to find Solveig waiting for him. That is a common occurrence. What is not common, however, is her being dressed to travel and surrounded with packed trunks.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, although he thinks that he already knows the answer.

“I’m leaving you, Eist,” Solveig says and there is an edge to her tone that he has never heard before.

He asks why and Solveig barely keeps herself from laughing.

“Because that’s not a marriage, this thing we have,” she says and gestures between them. “You’re a good man, Eist, and you’ve been a good friend to me. But you haven’t been a good husband.”

He can’t really argue with that. Solveig takes note of his silence.

“I deserve more than a man who will always think of me as second best,” she whispers and Eist hates the way her voice breaks, hates the knowledge that he’s the one who caused it.

“That’s not true,” he says, his own voice thick. “You were never second best. I was not a good husband to you, I know. But I did love you, for you. Not because you reminded me of someone. In fact, it was just the opposite.”

Solveig looks him in the eye for the longest time before she sighs and says,

“Don’t you see, Eist, how that’s not really better?”

Still, they part on friendly terms – or as friendly as two people realizing they have made a colossal mistake and finding their way out of it can do. Crach comes to him the next morning, solemn-faced and stiff, and informs him that Solveig has been seen boarding the ship for Temeria, accompanied by a man. The man in question is her lifelong friend, Mikkel, the pharmacist who lives just down the main road.

Crach doesn’t understand why, instead of breaking furniture and shouting, his uncle finds it so amusing that he can’t stop laughing for the whole day.

*

  
  


When Calanthe learns about Solveig leaving him, she offers to track down his wife’s lover, put his head on a stick, and send it to him. It takes Eist three letters to talk her out of the idea, and even more than that to convince her that he’s not spending his days despairing over the end of his marriage.

_I really am fine,_ he writes in a paragraph between a wild story involving Ciri chasing a goose and his remarks about an agriculture reform that Calanthe has asked him to share. _I suppose it is always a hit to one's pride to see something you have tried to build fall to pieces, and it's even worse to find out I am not the man I have always thought myself to be. But I am not going to dramatically jump off the cliff, Calanthe, so please stop asking Pavetta to check up on me every six to eight hours._

Pavetta still keeps inviting him for breakfast every day anyway.

  
  


_*_

  
  


The summer is nearing its end when Calanthe returns to Skellige.

Pavetta has by now assumed that he is a permanent fixture to their breakfast table, and when he mentions that he might just stay at his house to leave her and her mother more space, she seems almost offended.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eist,” she says and she sounds so much like her mother that Eist nearly smiles. “I expect you to be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.”

You can’t really argue with the Princess of Cintra, so Eist shuts his mouth and keeps coming over.

Calanthe has changed since the last time he saw her. She seems calmer now, more grounded. Gone is the nervous energy that she radiated when she first visited Pavetta; most of the tension between them is gone as well.

It takes Calanthe exactly one day before she corners him when he is walking alone down the path leading from the village to Pavetta’s house, and asks him how he’s really doing.

“It’s just me, you know,” she says and falls into step with him. “You can tell me.”

“I know,” he says. “But I really am doing well.”

She throws him a look that clearly says that she doesn’t believe him, but she drops the subject. Eist starts to talk about the new ships in his fleet instead, and they discuss the topic at length as they walk along the cliff, watching the afternoon sky slowly turn dark. Finally they stop to rest underneath a tree a bit further along the cliff’s edge. They sit in the high grass, partially obscured from view, and admire the sun going down and disappearing into the sea.

“I really am sorry about your wife,” Calanthe says out of the blue. It’s almost sincere, Eist has to give her that. “You really can’t seem to find your luck with women, can you?”

She doesn’t say it to be cruel, or funny. If anything, it’s self-deprecating. He doesn’t know where she learned that.

“Everyone feels sorry for me,” Eist says, purposefully staring into the vast emptiness in front of him instead of looking at her. “The public sympathy is useful, but wrong. If anything, it is me who should be sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Calanthe’s eyes widen with surprise, and then indignation.

“She left you for another man,” Calanthe says, tersely. Eist almost smiles when he hears the familiar notes of outrage colouring her tone. “Whatever could _you_ be sorry for?”

Eist takes a moment to carefully formulate his reply. Around them, the wind picks up. He absent-mindedly notices that it’s going to rain. Eventually he turns to face Calanthe and discovers that she is looking at him with her eyes narrowed, wary and waiting for his explanation.

“Solveig didn’t leave because she found someone else,” Eist says calmly, but his heart is beating so fast against his chest that he thinks Calanthe must be able hear it. “She left because she could no longer take being married to a man who, despite the years and against his better judgement, was still in love with another woman.”

Calanthe’s eyes widen. For a long moment, neither dares to move.

“And she was right,” Eist breathes, forcing himself to continue. “And I was so, so wrong. I should never have married Solveig, but I did, and when I realized what a fool I was, I didn’t even have the courage to let her go. I was so angry at you, and at myself, and I thought that I had some moral high ground, because I wouldn’t have made the same choice you had. And I tried so hard to forget you, and I couldn’t.”

Calanthe still looks at him, dumbfounded, and for a moment Eist is afraid that she might have stopped breathing.

“And now?” she finally asks, her voice so quiet that he can barely hear the words.

“And now I’m standing – well, sitting - here before you, telling you that I’m not as good a man as I once thought myself to be, as I would like to be… asking you if there might ever be a chance for us again.”

A long conversation happens without a word being spoken. There are some questions and answers and apologies and confessions. There is a subtle rise of an eyebrow, a tug on the corner of the lips.

Eist doesn’t know who moves first; it might be him, but Calanthe’s not far behind. He takes her in his arms and she holds on to him, steadying him in place. Her hands are cold but gentle, and her mouth is hot against his skin.

Kissing her has always been like a revelation; this time, it feels like coming home.

  
  


*

  
  


“ _Against your better judgement?_ ”, Calanthe asks some time later when they lay tangled between the sheets in his bed.

Outside, the wind is raging; the rain drums heavily against the roof and windows. There is a chill in the room, but the covers are deliciously warm.

Eist at least has the decency to look sheepish before he leans down and kisses her again, delighted to discover that the years haven't changed the little noises she makes when he presses his hand _just so..._

And so the world keeps on spinning - and if the next morning it feels a bit gentler, calmer than the day before, well. Who's to say it isn't true?

**Author's Note:**

> I remember the tags guys, it might not look like it, but I know what I'm doing :D If you're here for the romantic plot, part 2 will be your jam. If you're here just because you think it's nice to have this bastard dead, you can read this chapter as standalone.  
> In any case, thank you for reading and please don't kill me :* but if you do want to scream @me, my tumblr is wickedwitzh(.)tumblr(.)com


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